Fondest Christmas Memory #1

At sixteen and seventeen years old, the last of three sons by my now threadbare parents to still reside at that place the Season insists on calling "home" (as in: Home for the Holidays - just the simple physical exertion of the word lends itself to a sort of cozy, warm exhale - like being punched in the gut. I'd been handily making my way down and living off of the parental goodwill path paved (hell, plowed wide and clear!) by my drug-abusing, concert-going, party hard elder brothers. They'd beguiled my folks into a quiet placidity that allowed for my beer drinking and sexual carousing to be considered nothing beyond simple teen mischief ("he's such a fine young man", mom beamed - still does, sometimes).

Every Christmas Eve my pop's family would bring their rattletraps into our driveway and then lurch into our "home" lusting for holiday cookies, copious amounts Busch Light Draft Beer, and a nice, hearty bottle or two of Canei ("yes! You can!") wine. In the midst of all the clearly Christian celebratory glee me and my little vixen/fox of the times Linda D. would grab our jackets, stuff a few beers in the pockets, and then tell my folks we were heading out to share the holiday spirit with some other friends and relatives. Everyone would blurt out various forms of goodwill and we'd skidaddle. Linda, with her compacted curvy short frame, Russo-Baltic looks, and trendy early 80's hair, make-up, and attire (Turtlenecks under sweatshirts! How sexaaaay!!) would saunter out into the street and propel herself up a few feet into the passenger side of my ride, my vehicle, my gas-powered extension of adolescent sexual fury - an orange, 1978 VW CamperVan. What a wicked machine! What a weird machine! What a fucking geek. But, that outrageous vehicle was my "wheels" during the supposed prime of my youthful life. That's the hand I'd been dealt, and like they say, when God gives you lemons - go find the gin baby! So there it was, a glorious orange VW Camper - no beater Nova SS, no primer grey Camaro, no fancy, shiny new K-Car, nope, no siree, Mr. Kurt got himself a motherfucking four speed, no heater ducts, refrigerator included, pop-top camping car! Holy shit, could you even imagine?

What a bozo, huh? But what if I told ya that it was the best thing that ever happened to my previously lonesome decrepit life at that point? What if I laid holy claim that Springsteen was a pussy cuz he never sang about this water-cooled, carpeted, and complete with a fold down kitchen table, moving love den? Huh? What if I told ya that I'd run speaker wire back to a pair of three-foot high JVC stereo speakers that powered the wicked sound in this hulk? What if I explained that this thing had a fold down full-sized bed, snap down privacy curtains, plenty of storage for blankets and pillows, and then, what if I threw in, for good measure, that my gal Linda liked lovin' me like some deranged little snow bunny? Don't sound so damn backassed now does it? Beer, a babe, a buzz, and bouncing like a couple of teen snowbunnies. Merry Christmas and Amen brothers and sisters. Those two Christmas Eve's will forever keep me young at heart.

So whatsit got to do with us you say? What does your misogynist (I'm shocked, how dare you think of me that way! We were in love - eventually she broke my heart by snowbunnying in a few - as the years go by I find out that it was possibly more than a few - others winter nests) little tale of conquest have to do with the music loving public? Give us the review already asshole!

Damn, ok, you people can be such pests. Let a guy re-live a bit will ya? That's what this whole rockroll thing thrives on. And the joyous holidays just get a boy a thinkin'. Ok...ok...

Here ya go - what ya need to know: Christmas Party with Eddie G. is the pinnacle, the tops, the absolute essential RocknRoll Christmas platter ever laid to acetate, or whatever it was laid to, anywheres. There's a whole supposed legend behind the title (quick short: a guy in schmoozy L.A. - a scriptwriter or something - he puts together these silly little Christmas tapes for friends and such as a gift-on-the-cheap type deal. Well, one lands in some record execs hands or stocking or whatever. He loves it and puts it out. I can't verify the accuracy of this recital, but ya get the whole myth/story drift), but there's nothing but wacked out fucking Yuletide brilliance in the seamless production that helps link amazing sonically related tunes like Detroit Juniors "Christmas Day", a stunning - and I mean STUNNING "Do You Hear What I Hear?/You Really Got Me" by Bobby Lloyd and the Skeletons (set, obviously, to the Kinks "You Really Got Me": "Giiiiirrrrl you really got me now / you really got me what I want for Christmas! / Ohhhhh yeaaaaah"). Perhaps, no fuck perhaps, this is the greatest rocknroll Christmas song ever recorded!

The whole record is woven together by a modern day schtick supposing the Three Stooges as making their own Xmas record ("on the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me / a slap!") and the psycho ramblings of Eddie Lawrence doing a raving-mad thing dubbed "The Merry Old Philosopher". The bits are broken up and separate the two song themes and patterns throughout the disc, and those songs they just keep a coming, hot, fast, fun, and furious. "Donde Esta Santa Claus?" by Augie Rios, Luis Prima belting out "What will Santa Say, When He Finds Everybody Swinging?", a beat parody by some cat named Tony Rodelle Carson, Foghat's "All I want for Christmas is You", and on and on. The final kick in the ass, knock the eggnog over, and clear the buffet table for action is Rufus Thomas getting all sweaty and nasty under a big beat funky on "I'll Be Your Santa Baby". I'd cite some delicious lyrical samples from said tune, but let's leave it in the back of that VW Camper I drove. I never knew I was being her Santa back then, ya know? Thanks Rufus!

After that, you'd think the fall-off would be tremendous for Christmas tunes with some rocks in the sauce. Well, it is a bit, but there are a few others that grace the portable sound system on the family piano in my joint. I gotta give Phil Spector his due here because A Christmas Gift for You from Phil Spector is so damn listenable and fucking pop gorgeous. That goddamn wall of sound he built is impenetrable on this thing. Fast and spectacular. You can't go without; it just wouldn't be the same holiday had Spector never delivered this gem.

An important last mention goes to a record that is/was a complete and utter surprise. Planet Christmas is a kind of concept record performed entirely by Mark Avsec (of Donnie Iris/Wild Cherry "Play that Funky Music" fame). Avsec is a classicly trained keyboardist (and now an influential entertainment lawyer) who puts together honest renditions of ultra-classic Christmas tunes dressed up in the sounds of an amazing array of world instruments (Thus the title "Planet"). This thing has wonderfully annotated liner notes that focus on the strange sounds as well as the interesting history behind these songs. A perfect listen and an equally intriguing read.

Christmas music can suck people, but it doesn't have to, so don't get muddled in the mess of dull product out there to screw your head into a pasty mess. Go for the good stuff - that's where you'll find the kicks the fat man in red used to give ya! Happy, Happy all! (You too Linda baby, wherever you are!).